


thanks for the dose

by butbythegrace



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at science, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Freckles, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Naked biology lessons, Pining, love messages through facial graffiti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butbythegrace/pseuds/butbythegrace
Summary: He isnotimpressed Ed managed this by connecting his freckles. He is not, he is not, he is not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not heed scientific timelines.
> 
> [art by kotosk](https://kotosk.tumblr.com/post/177538157267/) got me feeling some kinda way. Us headcannoning freckle!Roy to the point that I couldn't not write the fic didn't help.
> 
> [pf](https://www.pillowfort.io/butbythegrace) | [tw](https://twitter.com/butbythegrace1)

As with many things, it could all be blamed on Edward Elric.

It isn’t Ed’s fault that at some point Roy had started to find him appealing, because it seems Ed tries his damndest to be otherwise. Every bit of lovely that captivates him is countered by a general dislike for him and anything to do with him. He has witnessed Ed literally go from wide grin to steel-eyed stare for just laying eyes on him. No, falling for Ed is the combination of his own bad taste and wanting something he knows he can’t have.

But it _is_ Ed who insists on taking non-medically necessitated leave for the first time since his and Al’s journey began, and that's certainly grounds enough to put him at fault. He says they need a break – that Al needs a few months of stability, even though Roy swears Al is pulling a Hawkeye ceiling-stare at that claim – and so they will spend their time in Resembool.

Roy could press the issue, but Ed has accrued more time off than he even asks for, and to be fair Roy doesn’t have any missions for him, or anything else for him to do for that matter.

What else is there for him to say? Ask Ed who else will bring fleeting moments of chaos to his dull office days? A breeze of fresh air to the headquarters stuffy with insincerity? Warm light to his deep dark?

Thinking like that with Edward glowering at him from the other side of the desk – just waiting to be told no – is enough to spark some sense in Roy.

What if Ed starts to notice? What if he starts saying this shit out _loud?_

Roy decides it really is best to let Ed go. Perhaps some time and distance will do some good for his fixation. _Definitely_ a simple fixation. Nothing truly amorous, just an infatuation that needs to run its course. Edward is utterly unobtainable even without military law in the way so the sooner he drops it, the better.

Ed looks surprised when he agrees, followed by something fleeting and almost _sad_ before he scowls, his face going red.

Alphonse nudges his brother and Roy watches the exchange with interest. It isn’t often that Al has to cue Ed to do anything aside from shut up. The fact that it’s something Al wants _Ed_ to say heightens the interest, because Al would just opt to say something himself if possible. It created less room for Ed to be, well, Ed.

Which Ed takes full advantage of as he mumbles a rushed thank you before peeling out of the office so quickly it’s like he's afraid Roy's going to drag him back by the braid and recant the offer.

Roy can just sense the eye roll as Al tilts his head back and sighs. He has a feeling Al was searching for more than half-assed gratitude.

“Do you ever feel like you have to do everything?” Al asks. Roy assumes his question is hypothetical until Al shifts, looking at him expectantly.

He blinks. “Not…particularly often,” he says carefully, knowing he would be a fool not to acknowledge his team, especially Hawkeye, who's possibly the most patient person he knows. “Why do you ask?”

“A fruitless search for empathy, I guess,” Al sighs.

Hawkeye comes to mind again. She and Al even have the same mannerisms of annoyance, so Roy feels they would probably get on rather well about it. “If you don't mind waiting, Hawkeye should be returning soon," Roy says, knowing she has a soft spot for the brothers and would never turn down the opportunity to be their sympathetic ear. "She may have a different answer for you."

“Makes sense,” Al nods, decidedly unsurprised.

"What?" Roy asks, as eloquently as he can while being caught off guard.

Al jumps a bit with a soft clank, as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Oh, nothing!” he says, waving his hands and backing away toward the door. “Thank you Sir see you in a few months bye!” And with that, Alphonse is gone as quickly as his brother.

Roy wonders what's got them acting so odd, but it seems they’re always acting odd, the reasons changing as quickly as the wind, so he doesn’t attempt to make anything of it. He has a more compelling problem. Their departure leaves three Edward-less months looming in front of him and he isn’t sure what should be done with it. The obvious answers of ‘nothing’ and ‘carry on as usual’ no longer seem reasonable.

Without realizing it at first, and being heavily in denial about it later, Roy seeks the sunshine elsewhere.

It starts slowly, just walking to headquarters, and walking home. It’s a small change but Hawkeye takes notice immediately, as she is always wont to do, but as with most harmless activity Roy gets up to, she says nothing and silently judges him with knowing looks directed either at him or the ceiling.

He’s cautious at first, having always assumed his complexion wasn’t meant to do anything but burn, but soon his walks progress to include lunch in the courtyard, where at a secluded little table he rediscovers his love for people-watching, his favorite childhood pastime. He learned some of the best lessons of his life by observing his aunt’s girls and the patrons of her bar, and though the common soldiers don’t have much to teach him, he still finds human behavior endlessly fascinating. He starts to indulge in it at the park near his home, too, and finds that moving his daily run there kills two birds with one stone. He hadn’t even spent so much time in the sun while in Ishbal, where he did most of his work by night and was only pulled from his tent during the day if something truly terrible was happening. But when problems were solved with the snap of his fingers, his time spent in daylight never lasted long.

He doesn’t burn but he doesn’t manage a hint of a tan, either. Genetics are a very strange thing, which he could spend more time pondering, but he’s always been far more content with chemistry, so he decides to leave it at face-value and just be grateful.

He’s non-too-gently reminded that there’s more than one manner for skin to prove it’s seen the sun.

It takes about a month for the smattering to appear, and it isn’t even he who notices them. Hawkeye approaches him shortly after his arrival to the office, brow creased and handkerchief in hand, much to his confusion, and then when they don’t budge, to her embarrassment.

Ashen against his pale skin, dappling his cheeks and nose, are freckles.

He has _freckles_.

He had no idea his skin was capable of doing this to him, and in the wake of his shock comes mild panic. The freckles make him look younger, which perhaps as someone in his early thirties he should be grateful for, but they don’t stop there. He looks softer. He looks _sweet_.

He reluctantly dips his toes into biology texts in an effort to find a quick way to reverse his predicament – which turns out to be absolutely nothing, apparently. They _might_ fade with decreased sun exposure, but he isn’t sure he’s willing to give up his time in the sun for that chance. His remaining options are limited. Surely his aunt’s girls would be more than happy to show him how to cover them, but he can only imagine the field day that would be had if he were discovered to be wearing make-up, and that would definitely be worse than the week or so it will take people to get over the development.

Perhaps he can spin it to work in his favor. He always did prefer to be underestimated.

So, as typical in his handling with powerful military officials – and really, life in general – he bluffs his way through confident indifference. It turns out to be the right decision. The freckles have taken so slowly that not many people seem to even notice, and the ones who do study them in that suspicious sort of way that makes it clear they’re trying to decide if they’d always been there.

Roy stays in the sun and replaces alchemy texts on his nightstand with books on biology, which he grudgingly admits is a lot more interesting now that he isn’t an alchemy obsessed teenager or depressed war veteran. On hellishly long days where he never leaves his desk, and nights he can't fall back to sleep, it makes him feel like he's accomplished something, even if it's just learning about cell walls.

The weeks turn into months. The freckles grow darker. And foolishly, he considers himself home free.

He forgets to factor in Edward Elric.

 

 

Ed returns with the waning of summer but his allure has stuck to Roy as if as stubborn as Ed himself.

Roy isn’t immediately aware that Ed notices the change, because Ed is all sorts of strange when he reports back from Resembool. He’s subdued and distracted and in lieu of their usual bickering says he isn’t feeling well, and with how flushed he is, Roy decides he’s probably telling the truth.

He buries his disappointment when Ed excuses himself soon after reporting in and wishes Ed to feel well soon, to which Ed rolls his eyes, as if Roy caring about his well-being causes him pain. Though his presence is brief, having him back is enough to soothe the ache in Roy’s chest, even if it does start to hurt in a different sort of way.

And it really isn’t so much that he _forgot_ to factor Ed in, but more like Ed’s initial lack of a reaction makes him lower his guard and conclude Ed is just like all the others. Takes the change with a bit of suspicion, shrugs it off, and moves on. In truth he underestimates just how much Ed, who glares and bares his teeth at him on the best of terms, still knows him better than people who see him nearly every single day.

 

 

Ed launches his first attack two days later during lunch hour in the courtyard.

Roy is seated at what has become his usual table while Ed lounges beneath a tree with Alphonse, beautifully bright even in the shade, and Roy tries very, very hard to not watch him too closely. He has to be doubly careful because though Ed isn’t directly facing him, Al is, and it’s not easy to determine where exactly an empty suit of armor is looking. Evidently though Roy is a little too good at not watching Ed, because suddenly Al is sitting alone and before Roy can grapple at what that means, Ed slides into the seat opposite of him.

Roy’s heart nearly leaps into his throat. Surely he’s been caught staring and Ed is about to call him on it and suggest just where he can fuck off to.

Ed sets an elbow on the table, palms his chin, and stares at Roy, hard.

Roy looks beyond Ed, where Alphonse still sits underneath the tree. His helmet is tilted as he looks up into the sunlight filtering through the branches, offering nothing. Roy looks back to Ed, and raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you, Fullmetal?”

Ed frowns, and stares a bit longer. “What’s with your face?” he finally asks.

Roy plays his best expression of nonchalance. He is so busted. “I beg your pardon?”

“What the hell are _those?”_ Ed asks, pointing just below his own eye, and Roy realizes it’s his freckles that have summoned Ed, not his poorly veiled staring. It’s nothing more than Ed’s hyper observant brain at work, but it’s nice to be in his focus, even if it doesn’t mean much.

Roy folds his hands. “Ephelis,” he tells him, and Ed’s eyebrows shoot up. “Clusters of concentrated melanized cells which are most easily visible on those with fair complexions, often becoming more pronounced through sun exposure.”

Ed looks at him as if he isn’t speaking science at all, but something more akin to that nauseatingly poetic way he’s been trying very hard to pretend doesn’t happen, but sitting this close to Ed makes difficult to forget.

“Did you just give _me_ the textbook definition for freckles?” Ed asks in that accusatory tone, the one meant to make whoever it’s aimed at feel like an idiot. But with his heart fluttering at Ed’s proximity, Roy already knows he’s an idiot, so he just shrugs.

“I find it appropriate, as it seems you’ve never seen them before.”

“Never on _you_ ,” Ed corrects, his eyes narrowing. “You sure those aren’t age spots?”

Roy’s eyes narrow in return. Ed’s just bitter about having his trademark moment of condescending definition prattling taken from him. “I _do not_ have age spots.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, old man,” Ed says, almost coy. He’s still cupping his face as he grins and it sends sparks straight to Roy’s heart.

Why. Why does he have to be attracted to this idiot.

“Did you really approach me with the sole intent of insulting my appearance?” Roy asks.

Ed leans both elbows on the table. “Yeah well, I didn’t get a chance to the other day,” he says, and _smirks,_ the little shit.

Roy wants to close his eyes and do some deep breathing but he can’t with Ed sitting there waiting, and god forbid he continue to win the conversation.

“I’m glad your _illness_ was short lived,” Roy says. Ed bristles in defense at his inflection. “And that you’re feeling well enough to resume your customary teasing.”

Ed’s face twists and turns red at that, and Roy knows he’s found his in.

“I do not _tease_ -”

“Ah. My apologies,” Roy says, reclaiming his smirk. “I too honed my skills of flirtation on older-”

They’ve played this game before – maybe not with Roy suggesting himself as the target, but still - and he’s expecting anger in the typical Ed fashion; yelling, waving his arms, maybe that highly amusing grating sound of emotional pain he makes when anger claws its way out of him. But this – the very implication of Ed having amorous intent towards him - ignites a rage so sudden it’s startling.

Ed’s hands _slam_ onto the table top, the intensity sending him up with a foot on the bench and knee at the table edge, the rest of him leaning across its surface and in Roy’s face. His braid hangs over his shoulder, his face is on fire and so are his eyes, but there’s something else there too, something that makes his brows pinch and the corners of his mouth pull. It disappears when he clenches his jaw and leans in even closer, nose just inches from Roy’s.

“You. Fucking. Wish,” he growls, voice shaking.

Roy’s eyes widen and his breath gets stuck in his throat, caught off guard by the sting and the fact that he can’t even _hide_ it, but Ed is so pissed he doesn’t notice. He’s already pushed off the table and is stomping away, shoulders stiff like the raised hackles of a cat. There are a few curious sets of eyes that follow his departure and then swivel to Roy, including those of Alphonse, who hesitates before turning and going after his brother.

Roy steeples his hands under his chin and, as per usual, feigns composure while his stomach sits in knots. Fortunately no one is surprised to see the Fullmetal Alchemist angry and their attention on him is short lived. There’s a dent in the table from Ed’s right hand, and Roy wonders if that’s what the incorporeal bit of his heart looks like, and maybe that’s why it’s suddenly so sore, which is really absolutely pathetic. He knows his place in Ed’s life and that it’s all he’ll ever be. So why does reality still have to hurt?

The next day, Ed catches him looking and flips him off.

He stops taking his lunches in the courtyard. When Hawkeye gives him the _look_ , he tells her he’s gotten too much sun lately. She diverts her stare to the ceiling, and sighs.

 

 

Even with their less than ideal reunion – which he does feel somewhat bad about, for the record - Roy had missed Edward terribly.

Not that he will admit it to anyone.

And not that in this particular moment he can remember why.

He cups the running water in his hands and splashes his face again, massaging his fingers against his cheek, watching the ink-tinged droplets splatter against the sink. It takes several more handfuls for the water to run clear. There’s no way he’s using the liquid sandpaper the military claims as soap on his face, so he dampens paper towels to scrub away the rest of what he can.

What he’s left with are faint lines that are nearly unnoticeable from a distance but leave one side of his face suspiciously duskier than the other.

It’ll have to do.

It’s after lunch so the building is quiet, the majority of its occupants finishing up their last hours of work for the day, so at least the chance of him running into anyone of importance is slim. The walk down to the labs gives him some time to cool off. He will not give Ed the satisfaction of a heated reaction. He really shouldn’t be giving any indication it bothers him at all, but for some reason Ed needs to know that he knows.

And maybe it’s his first real chance to talk to Ed since his misstep. But he’s not going to admit that, either.

He reaches the last lab on the left, ignores the sign and its chicken scratch that probably reads something along the lines of “Do Not Disturb”, and pushes the door open.

Ed is slouched in a chair with his feet kicked up on the table, legs loosely crossed and a handful of papers in his lap. He doesn’t even react to Roy’s appearance. Alphonse is nowhere in sight, but Roy _knows_ Ed doesn’t think it’s his brother, he knows it’s Roy and is simply making a point that he is completely and utterly disinterested in whatever has brought him here.

“You have one minute to convince me it wasn’t you,” Roy says, half expecting Ed to ignore him.

“You’re gonna have to get more specific,” Ed drawls, and of course this would be one of the few times he admits he’s done something else wrong and Roy can’t even enjoy it. Ed looks up from his papers with a bored stare, taking a defined moment to focus on Roy’s face – oh, he’s good – and a spark of amusement glints in his eyes, the beginnings of a wolfish grin pulling at his mouth. “You fall asleep on some fresh paperwork?”

“Not quite,” Roy grates.

“Your notes then, by the looks of it.”

Roy grinds his teeth. He can play at this just as well, and even if it’s ill-advised of him to do so at least it’s better than losing his composure. “There are not many people with molecular knowledge who would be willing to draw on my face as I sleep,” he points out.

“Molecules huh?” Ed says, lowering his notes and stroking his chin as he very obviously feigns deep thought. “Definitely an alchemist,” he decides with grave sincerity. “Did you see what kind they were? Might help you track down who did it.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have the time,” Roy replies coolly.

“Bummer,” Ed says, and he really _does_ look disappointed, like Roy has cut off the punchline of his joke. Knowing that’s _exactly_ what has happened leaves Roy thoroughly and blatantly annoyed.

“I realize you have gone some months without causing me grave irritation and that you must have missed it terribly-”

Ed’s face darkens and his feet drop from the table. “I _did not_ fucking _miss you-_ ” he starts, which Roy hasn’t even said but Ed apparently still wants absolutely no notion of.

“But so help me Edward,” Roy continues, and Ed glares but shuts his mouth with an audible click. “If I have to walk the halls with ink on my face again-”

Ed interrupts him with a sigh, the loud and dramatic sort with raised and dropped shoulders, because not playing connect the dots on your superior officer’s face certainly is _such_ an exhausting request to comply with. But at least he looks Roy in the eye when he’s through. “Yeah yeah, it won’t happen again.”

“Appreciated.”

Ed holds his gaze for a moment longer, then turns to pick up his notes. He squares them out with a few taps to the table top. “If you’ve got nothing else to rub my nose in, you know where the door is.”

Which leaves Roy in a bit of a weird space. The next logical move _is_ to leave. He had obtained what he came for. He _should_ go, should have been gone as soon as he was done speaking. Ed has agreed to his request, thus admitting his guilt, but Roy still feels as if he has lost, somehow.

Maybe it’s because his cheek is still smudged with ink, but he has a sneaking suspicion this back and forth has finally exhausted him. It takes a lot of energy to be the primary reason Ed is pissed off, even though that’s their dynamic and how they’ve _always_ been, and to be anything else is uncharted territory for which there’s no way they’re reading the same map.

It’s the edge of this sort of unknown that leaves Ed looking at Roy just as he is now, somber and questioning, like he has something to say but doesn’t because it looks like Roy has something to say too. Roy prays Ed tells him to get lost again, because whatever comes from him won’t be good one way or the other, fuck, it’ll probably be that waxing poetic shi-

The moment is broken and they both startle when the door swings open to Alphonse, who peeks in from the hallway.

“Brother, the Aerugonian stand isn’t open today, and I wasn’t sure what- oh, hello Colonel!” he greets when he notices Roy, followed up by a concerned noise as he points at Ed’s handiwork. “Oh, Sir, I think you have a smudge on your cheek?”

Roy, though he is not usually short with Alphonse, simply glowers and walks past him and out the door. Behind him there’s a peal of poorly concealed laughter from Ed, and Al gasps, armor clanking as he sweeps into the lab following Roy’s departure.

“Brother!” he hisses as the door starts to swing shut. “What did you _do?!”_

Roy doesn’t want to care. He really sort of deserved it, and there's probably not even anything left to see. But curiosity gets the better of him halfway back to the office and safely out of the perimeter of the labs. He ducks into a bathroom and takes the sink nearest to the window, leaning in close to the mirror and carefully examining the faint lines.

There had been several molecules, all identical, and he had vaguely registered some letters beneath them, but his panic over Ed’s art possibly being done in permanent marker had outweighed any desire to comprehend what they were. He is _not_ impressed Ed managed this by connecting his freckles. He is not, he is not, he is not.

He has to piece the molecule together from the various remains, gathering an H from one, then another H, and then an- oh.

Realization pricks him like a tack and reignites his ire.

Two hydrogen, one oxygen.

The molecule for water.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new tag. Yes, it's fluff. I finally had to admit it. I know. I'm just as surprised as you are.

There is no third attack.

Or perhaps there is, in a way, but it starts off as a foiled observation.

Ever since the connect the dots incident, Roy does his best not to fall asleep at his desk during lunch. He really does try. He makes it ten whole weekdays, though he does not best his score of fifteen, but that belongs in the category of non-lunch hours so the two are technically unrelated. Hawkeye makes it a habit to show up at 1 on the dot to bestow upon him more work, and sometimes - to her quiet disapproval - to wake him up.

Roy blinks to groggy consciousness on day eleven, cheek scratchy on his uniform sleeve and an expanse of wooden desk before him. He flexes his fingers a little, feeling the slick surface beneath them. He doesn’t think he’s fallen asleep on any paperwork, so hopefully he’s woken in time to escape Hawkeye’s attention. Better yet, it’s probably still lunch hour and he was never in any real danger.

He blinks and raises his head, searching for the clock, and instead finds Ed standing next to his desk.

The potential of angry Hawkeye wasn’t enough to alarm him, but Ed’s presence surely is.

Roy sits up with a start, startling Ed, who takes a step back and seems to forget where the floor is, like he’s missed the last step in a set of stairs, and it sends him scrabbling for his balance. He looks _so_ guilty, wide eyes and upturned brows, clenched teeth and a sharp intake of breath. He’s blushing too, and getting redder by the moment. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Oh hell, he’s drawn something again, hasn’t he?

Roy rubs a hand across his cheek, but it comes away clean. The other side seems clean too, and he looks at Ed again to confirm he isn’t holding something to write with, which he isn’t. He’s simply standing here, looking disarmed, guilty, and nervous, just for- what? Watching Roy sleep? Ed’s caught him sleeping before, it’s not like it’s a big deal, unless-

Oh.

Ed _has_ caught him sleeping, but this is different. Roy has never caught him watching. And if Ed’s reaction has anything to say of it, he’s been watching for a while.

Their eyes meet, and something between them clicks oh so cleanly into place, something that makes their shoulders dip and lips part in tandem, and suddenly everything – from Ed’s sudden summer departure, to the blushing, the anger, Al and Riza’s shared exasperation, _everything_ – makes sense.

And Roy realizes, for someone who so prided themselves on their recreational study of human behavior, he’s utterly failed to apply it to what was right in front of him.

Ed bites his lip and hesitates. He’s the sort of pensive Roy rarely gets to see and he’s stunning like that, considering and wrestling with his next move. Roy has a sneaking suspicion of what that move will be when Ed's bright eyes drop to his mouth.

His heart starts to pick up pace as the air he breathes becomes thinner, lighter. Something that shouldn’t be happening is about to and there’s not a chance in hell he’s going to stop it.

Ed’s brows and jaw set in determination, then he strides right up to Roy and reaches out with his left hand. Roy swears that hand is shaking. Ed isn’t wearing gloves and brushes his bare fingers over the freckles that dust Roy’s face. That hand continues back, slipping into Roy’s hair, tilting his face up as Ed leans down and puts his lips to his cheek.

Roy is sure his very existence takes a short pause.

It’s not just Ed’s hand shaking, his entire body is vibrating, hot and nervous. He pulls back just far enough for Roy to get a good look at him and how striking he is, bright features defined by cheekbones and a jawline that promise they’ll sharpen to cut. Roy’s eyes trail to the lips that had been so soft on his cheek. They’re even softer on his mouth as he grabs Ed’s hand and pulls him back down and in.

Ed’s inexperience shows only in his shyness, as if he’s so used to being rough and wild that he isn’t quite sure how to be otherwise. But he tastes good, and he smells good, and he’s sent Roy’s heart to its knees, so it doesn’t matter that it takes him some time to find his rhythm and figure out how to kiss back because it also gives Roy the opportunity to relearn how to breathe before he’s swept breathless again.

He gathers Ed’s red coat in his hands and asks him closer. Ed’s hands drop to the armrests of the chair to balance himself, and then he steps up one knee at a time, bracketing Roy’s thighs. Roy’s grip on the coat loosens, his arms sliding around Ed’s waist, and they settle together neatly. Ed wastes no time getting his hands up Roy’s military issue jacket and their kisses are searing hot, speaking of all those months they’d spent in longing opposition.

Then the office door opens with a click. It might as well have been smashed in with a battering ram because Roy’s heart was already racing and with the extra shot of adrenaline he’s sure his ghost temporarily leaves his body.

Ed nearly falls off the chair and it probably would have been for the best, but Roy’s still got ahold of his coat and panic has locked his joints in ice, so he holds fast and keeps Ed in their incriminating position. Roy catches a swathe of blue uniform waiting at his office door and his career flashes before him as he realizes he doesn’t remember if that meeting with General Westland is actually after lunch _today_ instead of a week from now. If Ed’s eyes are anywhere near the size of his own then they both must look guilty as fuck.

But thankfully the blue jacket belongs to a file-laden Hawkeye, who stares at them with thinly veiled irritation. It’s marginally better than the looks Roy and the ceiling have been recipients of for the past few months, but not by much. She still looks like she wants to drop the stack of files on his head.

There’s a long, long stretch of silence in which neither he nor Ed move a muscle, as if hoping she’ll be less inclined to cause them bodily harm if they don’t activate her prey drive.

But seeing the issue of their apparent mutual pining - which has no doubt been gnawing at her for just as long as it has at Roy - finally come to a resolution must put her in a particularly good mood. She does the longest, slowest consideration of the ceiling Roy has ever seen in his life as she turns to leave. Then she pauses, twists the lock on the inner knob into place, and with one last look at them, shuts the door behind her.

He and Ed stare at the door, then at each other, still wide-eyed with shock, before breaking into peals of helpless laughter.

Ed bumps their noses and Roy’s heart _burns_. He presses their foreheads together, the both of them shaking, nerves and adrenaline keeping their hearts thrumming together in quick tandem. He can’t believe that this is happening, that _that_ had just happened, and that Ed is still so close, solid and strong and very, very real. He also wonders why _now_ , even though he’s not in the business of questioning the reasons incredible people find their way into his romantic orbit and he never will be.

Ed answers it for him anyway, though, because apparently what has transpired deserves good reasoning.

“So, uh,” he says with a breathless little laugh, tucking his face into the crook of Roy’s neck to hide his blush, cheek hot on Roy’s skin. “None of this was in the plan but your freckles are really fucking hot.”

Roy's mind reels. He smooths his palm over the back of Ed's head and down to his shoulders, his other arm still wrapped around Ed’s waist. “Could’ve fooled me," he says softly, a little in awe, though he's not sure at what in particular because this whole situation is unbelievable from its very beginning.

“I have a reasonable explanation,” Ed claims. His breath on Roy's neck raises goosebumps down his arms.

“I’m sure you do." Roy sets his chin on Ed’s shoulder and closes his eyes. They stay like that for a moment, heads leaned together, basking in their closeness and processing the sequence of events that brought them here.

Eventually, Ed sighs. “Al is gonna be so smug,” he says.

Roy realizes Riza is, too, but he doesn’t care. He’s just glad they were right.

“So let him be,” Roy tells him.

Ed sits back, fists still buried in the front of Roy’s jacket and Roy kind of feels like he's being held out and examined. Ed’s face is flushed and his lips red and he’s the brightest thing Roy’s ever seen.

Ed grins, and with his mouth on Roy’s, agrees.

 

 

Their back and forth doesn’t stop, but it definitely changes.

Without the bite of frustration Ed has been worn down to that sound of emotional anguish Roy has decided he absolutely loves. He does it when Roy calls him sweetheart, when that poetic verse sneaks its way out, when he asks Ed if he knows how beautiful he is.

Sometimes Ed simply rolls his eyes and grimaces, as if trying not to look at something disgusting. Maybe Roy’s face looking just as sappy as his lines is too much for him. But he does put up with it, only telling Roy to shut up when it’s particularly terribly syrupy, and that is definitely something.

Roy's fortunate he's highly scientifically inclined himself or he doesn't think Ed would've put up with him for long. Though he's correct to assume it will be science that strikes something deeper in them, he's wrong about that science being alchemy.

He watches Ed eye the biology books on his nightstand and doesn’t think much of it. Ed’s nosy, it’s just in his nature to want to know everything, even if it’s just the title of the current book Roy is reading. Roy exchanges it for another a few weeks later, and that one is particularly good so he finishes it within a week. It’s the third book – Bell’s Human Biology, a 1200-page monster - when he discovers the books are more than just a curiosity to Ed.

He returns to the bedroom with two glasses of water to find Ed still naked, on his belly with the book open in front of him, legs crossed in the air behind. His hair is still down too, hanging over his far shoulder. The bed is a mess both around him and under and he absolutely gleams against the dark comforter and sheets. Roy hasn’t gotten to admire him in the light much yet and he makes such a beautiful picture he can’t help but slow his stride to stare.

Ed looks up at him and smiles unabashedly. “You are _actually reading_ books on biology,” he says with a touch of wonder, as if Roy has just been swapping out books and dancing the bookmark down their pages for his amusement.

“I am,” Roy says, setting the glasses of water down. He takes a spot on the mattress, cross-legged and catty-corner from Ed. “I have been for a while now.”

Ed watches him settle with quiet intensity. He cocks his head to the side. “Why?”

Roy doesn’t know what possesses him to start off by saying, “To be honest -” but Ed’s face lights up with glee because he just _knows_ he’s about to hear something good and it instantly makes the decision worth it.

“I was looking for a way to resolve the freckles," Roy finishes, making this confession to the twisted-up sheets because it really does sound as hopelessly desperate as it did in his head.

 _“What?”_ Ed asks in a laugh. “Why?”

“Vanity,” Roy replies with a straight face, which isn’t exactly a lie but Ed calls him on it immediately.

“You were _embarrassed,_ ” Ed says with a knowing, delighted grin. Roy makes a face but doesn’t deny it. “Dunno why. You’re unfairly hot. Like I couldn’t even look at you when Al ’n I first got back.”

“So you _weren’t_ sick.”

Ed snorts. “Did you really believe that? I thought for _sure_ you figured it out and that’s why you made fun of me for flirting with you.”

“ _Were_ you?” Roy asks with a grin. “Flirting with me?”

Ed blushes, something Roy hasn’t seen for a while, and ignores his question. “You cited that definition at me and I was so sure you only memorized it to piss me off. But you were reading these the whole time,” he says, shutting the book and considering its cover. “Wild.”

“Why would I keep a book I'm not reading next to my bed?”

Ed shrugs. “For show,” he says simply.

“For _show?”_

“Y’know. Like you’re trying to impress whoever you’ve got over.”

Roy struggles not to laugh. “I don’t think a biology book would be my first pick to impress anyone.”

Something in Ed changes, like he’s become aware of something Roy isn’t and knows it. There’s a little bemusement in his smile but the rest of him suddenly looks very tired.

“This one’s real good about bones,” Ed says, tapping the textbook. He looks up at Roy. “Was your last one Alexander’s ’98 or ’99?”

“’99,” Roy answers, intrigued by the route they’re taking.

“Better illustrations,” Ed says, nodding. “Have you read any Lockheed?”

“No, but I have one of his on my list.”

“Is it the 1905? The molecular one?”

Roy nods, and the corner of Ed’s mouth pulls up.

“I’ll see if Al’s willing to part with his copy. One less thing for us to carry. I think I could really get him by pointing out it’ll be safer with you.”

Ed is testing him, Roy realizes, just as it hits him that Ed _does_ know quite a bit about biology. It’s easy to only think of human transmutation as the ultimate taboo. It’s even easier to forget its roots when what the name conjures in Roy is arriving to the scene 72 hours too late, to the circle that spoke of the impossible and the stain of two massive puddles of blood, thinking there wasn’t a hope that whoever had done it survived.

To those who dared try, it made sense that making a human would require extensive biological knowledge. Roy doesn’t know what else Ed could be trying to tell him.

He also can't believe he hadn't seen himself so blatantly reaching for Ed in his absence. He thought he'd only been in denial during his first weeks in the sun, but no wonder Riza had been so concerned over his recent choice of reading material. He was beginning to think she took personal offense to general biology.

Ed bites his lip, looking like he has more to say, and Roy waits. So rarely does he actually get to find out what Ed is thinking. But Ed starts to sink into that tell-tale look of emotional exhaustion and Roy doesn’t want him to feel like he has to explain himself.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he offers quietly. He isn't sure anything he says in return will be good enough.

Ed sighs. His mouth smiles but his eyes shine with something more bitter than sweet. “As much information as the transmutation circle contains, you also need intent for it to go successfully, right? So I needed to know my ingredients, and I needed to know exactly what they would make. I got to know a lot about molecular biology. Anatomy. Physiology.” His voice lowers, as if admitting something secret. “I like molecules the best. ’s basically just chemistry.”

While Roy is struck a little speechless that Ed is volunteering this part of himself, Ed seems to regret the words as soon as they’re out. He rubs a hand down his face and hides behind it.

“Sorry to just- dump that on you. Not great pillow talk, right?”

Ed would try to apologize for being brilliant.

“I will never grow tired of learning about you,” Roy tells him. “So please don’t apologize. It’s absolutely incredible how much you had to learn and that you did it all on your own. I would love to compare notes. To learn from you.”

Ed hesitates, like he isn't sure if Roy is serious. “Yeah?” he asks.

"I'm sure you're far more compelling than the book," Roy tells him.

Ed blushes and smiles, just a quirk at the corner of his mouth but Roy will take it. “It’s nice to talk about it. It gives the knowledge purpose. Makes me feel like I didn’t waste my time.”

Ed says it so freely that it almost doesn’t sound like an admission, but Roy stops to wonder at it. Most people were incorrect to assume Ed’s childhood ended upon enlistment. Ed had spent what would have been the remainder of it fiercely studying for a test he would fail.

But what Ed considers a possible waste of time is what Roy has come to cling to during the bad; days where he’s stuck in meetings, weeks where he feels like he’s done nothing but sign his name. Nights where he wakes in a cold sweat and doesn’t have any hope of falling back to sleep. And if even he can find purpose in it, then surely someone as brilliant as Ed doesn’t feel that any type of knowledge is worthless.

“The time and intensity we’ve spent studying may not compare, but I’m here learning for the sake of knowing, and I don’t feel as if it’s a waste,” Roy says quietly. “On days where it feels like I’ve accomplished nothing, sometimes it’s all I have.”

Ed stares at the bed, brows pinched.

“You may need it yet,” Roy adds, because who knows exactly how Ed is going to get Al’s body back? What if he has to put it back together, or build it from scrap, figuring out just how a soul is woven into the fascia and muscle and bone?

Ed is very quiet and solemn as he continues to stare at the comforter. Roy’s worried he’s said the wrong thing, that he’s touched on the subject deeper than he was allowed.

Then Ed blinks. He looks at Roy and smiles through that layer of solemnity. It leaves him softer at the edges and the most vulnerable Roy has ever seen him.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re not wrong there. And it’s not _really_ how I feel, I’m just not able to go anywhere with it right now so it’s frustrating, and it’s just- it’s weird." He places his automail hand on the book's cover. "Biology wasn’t something I loved at the time. I did it because I had to, and I _probably_ could have been doing something better. But it created this second-generation sort of love. I _learned_ to love it.” His smile fades. “It’s different from nostalgia. To me nostalgia is longing for that time again, and I don’t feel that about most of my life.”

“I know just what you mean,” Roy says, unguarded. The first seven years of his life with his parents – any time spent with Maes, which was really just a handful of moments compared to the rest of his life – it isn’t much.

“You do, don’t you,” Ed says, gentle and observing, and it makes Roy's heart hurt.

He wonders what he’s done to be in the presence of this being, who is barely an adult but has spent a greater percentage of his life being one than Roy has, who he can confidently say has seen and done and ached more than most people. Roy’s met his share of tragedy and even though they can bump shoulders and lean on one another on these paths they stumble down, he isn’t sure he’s earned this.

Despite being a walking social disaster, Ed seems to have a sixth sense attuned to just when Roy needs to be yanked back down to earth. His expression melts into something sultry and just like that he’s drawn Roy in and wrapped him up, somehow making him feel indecent despite Ed being the one who's naked.

“Pop quiz,” Ed declares, which is not in the top fifty things Roy expected him to say and leaves him staring at Ed in confusion. Ed quirks an eyebrow and taps the book, reopened to chapter one. He’s apparently taking the request to be learned from very seriously.

“On the first day of class?” Roy asks, looking from the book to Ed. “What kind of teacher are you?”

“The kind that sleeps with students, apparently.”

Roy gives him a considering look. “I feel like I can blackmail my way out of this,” he decides. He’s never slept with a teacher before, but he’s pretty sure it goes something like that.

As it turns out, Ed can be very convincing.

“My morals may be terrible,” Ed says, and then he stretches, back arching like a bow. “But my lessons are always interesting.” The taut lines of his body languish back into relaxation, and Ed smirks. He’s so god damn exquisite that Roy is happy to let him have it.

“Hm,” Roy says in faux consideration, as if he even needs to think about it. “Pop quiz it is, then.”

Ed grins and slaps a hand over the page he’s on, as if to keep Roy from cheating. “What makes up 55 to 60 percent of the human body?”

“What?” Roy asks without consideration, realizing a little late that a first chapter question should be simple, but ultimately deciding it’s okay to start off the semester with low expectations.

Ed cups his chin and absolutely smolders in Roy’s direction.

“Water,” he purrs.

It hits something in Roy, something sharp but warm, like he's stepped out into the sun. He’s had a sneaking suspicion from the start, but in that moment, Roy knows he’s done for.

He must look as stricken as he feels, because Ed is so pleased thinking the reaction is to his joke that he bows his head and laughs.

 

 

Ed’s presence fades in with winter while the freckles fade out, and though they never completely go away their lack of distinction greatly displeases him. It isn’t really evident he feels this way until Roy wakes one morning to an entirely refreshed set dotting his face. Ed has refined his art, using different shapes and sizes, and aside from being too dark, they look pretty damn good. What remains after he washes his face looks so natural that Roy isn’t even annoyed.

But eventually they fade to the point that even Ed’s recreation isn’t passable anymore, and the game dies out soon after. Roy’s relieved to find Ed doesn’t just seem to tolerate him for his freckles, but even after all his previous anguish, he still finds he somewhat misses them, even if it’s just because they allowed him more time under Ed’s absolute attention.

With Ed’s birthday fast approaching – and knowing he despises most material things for being both useless and a waste of space – Roy isn’t quite sure _what_ to do, or if he should even do anything at all, because if there’s one thing Ed hates more than stuff he doesn’t need, it’s having a fuss made over him.

The original plan was to just cook him dinner, as there are few things Ed appreciates more than homecooked food, but an idea sparks in him the morning of and Roy just can’t leave it alone. And just as he thought, his aunt’s girls are more than happy to be of assistance.

The look on Ed’s face when he answers the door that evening is almost as priceless as when Roy shows him the brushes and pencils the girls had come together on, including a bottle of makeup remover, all things that could conveniently stay in a drawer in the bathroom.

Roy fully expects Ed to be more concerned about food or getting naked, but Ed’s first response is to wipe the falsies from half of Roy’s face to see if he can imitate the girls’ technique, before demanding Roy tries it on him. He forgets to wash his face before he leaves early the next morning and he looks so adorable Roy doesn’t remind him.

He also hasn’t lost his love for drawing on Roy as he sleeps. There are mornings where Roy wakes to freckles on his cheeks, and others where they decorate his shoulders or collarbones. Only once does he discover another joke in the form of the Little Dipper on the left side of his face. He knows it’s the Little Dipper because it was the morning after Ed had asked exactly how tall he was, and Roy was foolish enough to answer truthfully.

But his favorite thing is being awake during the process, nestled against the covers of his bed on his back while Ed sits cross-legged next to him. He revels in Ed’s quiet closeness and how he delves so deep in his concentration that he can be watched for minutes at a time until he notices.

He’s more expressive with his mouth than Roy has ever noticed before; biting his lips red in intense focus, the slight pout when something doesn’t turn out the way he thought it would, how he holds a pencil between his teeth instead of just setting it down. And of course his grin and the bright flash of his eyes when they catch Roy’s own staring.

It makes Roy’s heart quiver and whirl and blaze all at once, how intimate this is even compared to the all the other things they’ve done.

Ed’s focus always wanes about halfway through, at which point he starts talking. Mostly about biology, giving Roy highly condensed overviews on various topics. But there are times he talks about himself, about what little childhood he’d had. Even rarer is when he speaks of the future. It’s also when he’s at his most guarded.

“After we get Al’s body back” is how he starts each thought, as if to imagine doing anything else until that happens is impossible. And that’s a loaded statement in itself, because what if they don’t? Will they spend their entire lives searching?

But it strikes Roy that Ed knows this – that there’s a chance their goal isn’t possible - but he’s still choosing and trusting for Roy to see what it may look like should they succeed. Roy isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve these pieces of Ed, but he does consider all the things that intertwined to bring them together and wants to kneel to them.

Though months earlier he was hoping the freckles would vanish with winter and never come back, now he hopes they never disappear.

 

 

They return full force with spring and Ed’s departure.

It’s nothing major – three weeks for the average alchemist, so knowing Ed, it will be either two or four, no on-time, no in-between – but it’s still time enough to miss him.

The alarm goes off early, a ridiculous 3 a.m. wake up for Ed to catch his train, and they cling to one another before Ed absolutely has to get going or he’ll be late. Roy drifts back to sleep as Ed showers and bustles around, stirs briefly when he feels Ed stroking his face, and groggily wakes again a bit later when Ed presses his lips to his and whispers, “See you later.”

Roy doesn’t fall back to sleep after he hears the front door click into place. He knows it’s hopeless and doesn’t even try, just throws an arm over his face and sighs.

They’ve been seeing each other for over six months now – at least, six months had passed since the day the freckles had finally done Ed in – and during this time they’d never really discussed _what_ they were. Roy knew what he was – someone who continued to grow more enamored by a being he’d at one point willed himself to write off any possibility of – and he knew what Ed was to him – someone whose existence had bled into his life and home to the point that it felt like he’d always been a part of it, and which would never be the same should he someday not return.

But Ed had never given any indication he was of a similar mindset and, finally having what he wanted and being borderline terrified of losing it, Roy had kept those sentiments to himself.

It wasn’t until the night before, when they’d been laying together, tangled and sweaty and catching their breath, that Roy murmured it against Ed’s neck.

_I love you._

Ed had gone tense, chest lurching under Roy’s palm as he sucked in a breath, reminding Roy that, oh yeah, he’d never said that aloud, and oh _yeah_ , he didn’t even know exactly what they were, or what kept bringing Ed back to him.

Freckles aside. He really wouldn’t be all that surprised if they were the only thing keeping Ed around.

And for a heart stopping moment, with not even the rough whine of embarrassment that typically came from Ed when he was presented with something sappy, Roy thought he’d ruined it all. He was too afraid to move, to even look up at Ed’s face in fear the expression there would leave him gutted.

But after that weighted beat of silence, Ed had cupped Roy’s face in his hands and hauled him up for a kiss, demanded to be cuddled by pulling Roy’s arms around him, and was still there in the morning, so even though he hadn’t said it back, at least he wasn’t so horrified over it that he’d skipped out in the middle of the night.

And it’s okay that he didn’t say it back. Really, it is. He let Roy say it _to_ him and that’s enough.

It still leaves Roy too restless to fall back to sleep, and at four-something in the morning, he hauls himself out of bed and to the bathroom. There’s not a chance any sleep that takes him will be worth lying there waiting for, and he may as well make good use of an extra couple hours.

He flicks on the bathroom light and his reflection greets him, complete with an intricate and expansive molecule traced onto the freckles of his right cheek.

He stares, dumbfounded. It’s so large that while Ed had made a valiant effort to connect the entire thing, he’d given up most of the way through and just slapped the remainder on.

And it’s in _ink_.

It’s seems suspiciously like an effort to make Roy's already iffy morning even more difficult and leaves him incredibly vexed. Perhaps it’s a good thing Ed left on a train this morning.

He twists the knob of the sink faucet and lets the water warm.

And yeah, he's a little pissed, but it aches too.

He will stand by Ed not returning those three words is okay, but it does still sting, and it burns even more to be reminded of where they’d been all those months ago, how Ed may not feel anything more than he did then – that maybe to him Roy just is something shiny but boring beneath the newness, that their relationship is some sort of trial or experiment or -

Joke.

His eyes widen, and he looks at his reflection again. He turns the faucet off more gently than he turned it on and examines the molecule more closely.

His first guess was another fire extinguisher of some sort, but it doesn’t contain potassium bicarbonate, or anything close to it. He strongly suspects it’s a hormone, though too long and complicated to be a sex hormone, so the chance Ed is trying to imply he’s full of estrogen is slim.

Perhaps growth hormone? Ed _has_ been smug ever since he realized Roy isn’t that tall himself. It could be continuing payback for years of height jokes.

But it’s too elaborate for Roy to try to decipher it while it’s still backwards, so he digs around for a makeup pencil and opts to use his bathroom counter as a sheet of paper. He draws just what he sees, carefully marking each line and labeling them with their respective elements, and then beneath, copies it the correct away around.

He studies the finished product. With its long chains and amino acids it looks like a peptide hormone. He crosses his fingers he’s correct, because if not, he has no clue how long it’s going to take him to track this thing down, or if he even can.

He returns to his room, heading for Al’s copy of Lockheed’s Molecular Biology laying on his nightstand, his current tome of choice and the one most likely to be helpful. But he hesitates. He intends to bring it with him to the bathroom in order to make direct comparisons, but there is something highly taboo about taking rare textbooks into an area with water sources, even more so since the book isn’t _really_ his.

His internal histrionics make him approach the book slowly, as if he has to make his decision before he gets there. Al is counting on him to care for it properly. He’d never seen Al angry but he had a feeling he didn’t want to. And what if Al got so upset he _cried?_ It would be so much worse since Al can’t physically cry, and then _Ed_ would be pissed, and wouldn’t that just be the cherry topper on Roy’s misstep from the night before.

His train of thought is derailed when he notices a white square of paper peeking out from the pages, sitting in addition to his own bookmark. It seems Ed may have taken pity on him after all, or at least acknowledged his patience would be flying a little low that morning. Closer inspection of it reveals a hastily made doodle of Ed sticking his tongue out, like some sort of cheeky x marks the spot.

Roy notes with renewed annoyance that it was drawn with a makeup pencil.

He sighs. He settles at the edge of the bed and carefully opens the book to the marked page. Beneath Ed’s drawing is his writing. The words once hugged by the pages don’t make sense, but at least the diagram on one of those pages matches the one on Roy’s face. And bathroom counter. Bathroom counter _twice_. This joke had better be worth the time it’s going to take for him to scrub it all off.

But as Roy reads his irritation quickly dissipates, and he realizes - a little late, just as he’s been with most things concerning Ed - that Ed may have been trying to tell him for a while.

He can’t have this right, can he? But it’s there, clear as day.

The love hormone.

Roy touches the molecule on his cheek. The relief hits him, hard and fast and it isn’t warm like he thought it’d be, it’s raw and almost painful. He feels fresh and shaky, brand new to this world he hadn’t known existed, one where Ed is just as big of a sap as he is – where he loves Ed and, somehow, it isn’t hopeless.

He wants the four weeks – it’ll be four, he just knows it – to be put on fast forward. He wants to rake his fingers through the satin gold of Ed’s hair, press the words against Ed’s lips and breathe in what Ed purrs in return. He wants to wake with Ed still sleeping, naked and clinquant in the morning light. He wants the freckles to spread to his shoulders so Ed can construct entire constellations on his skin.

Even more so, he wants to hear the flustered groan Ed would have made looking at him now, grinning like the sappy idiot he’s okay with being because Ed lets him, and he is Ed’s, and Ed is _his_.

He traces a finger over the square of paper marking the passage on oxytocin, its silly self portrait and the four words beneath, written with a shaking hand.

_thanks for the dose_

 

 


End file.
